I really didn’t blame the plant.
He was pretty, in an inexplicable way; if you looked at each individual attribute, he was almost too pretty. But put them together, and suddenly you wondered if it was possible to keep yourself from blinking — because those seconds were seconds you had to take your eyes off perfection, and it seemed unfair, so ridiculously unfair.
The sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. I moved into a sitting position, fully expecting the angel to come crashing in.
The doorknob twisted.
And my breath hitched as the shaggy brown-haired man took one booted step into the guest room.
Completely shirtless.
In low slung jeans with more holes than fabric.
And flip-flops that had seen better days.
His wild brown hair fell just past his chin. Pieces of dark brown and orange intertwined around larger pieces of chocolate brown.
He looked like a fall drink at Starbucks.
Hot. Comforting. Yet dangerous if spilled or sipped too soon.
He was a tall dark order of pumpkin spice.
I licked my lips and forced my eyes away from his face as he slowly made his way toward the bed.
My heart picked up speed, as if it were trying to warn me we were in danger.
But the only danger I saw was embarrassment. I’d been badly attacked.
I had bruises all over my body.
And even though the bleeding had stopped a day ago, I had bites that would scar.
And I had absolutely no recollection of why I’d been walking by myself down that abandoned road in the first place.
Except that he’d been crying.
Again.
And I’d needed to find him.
I had the same nightmare every year.
And every year I searched for the source of the tears.
By stupidly walking in the dark wherever my heart led me.
MASON
Bruises marred her cheekbones. Bite marks created tiny tracks all the way down her arms, scattering across her fingers like tiny little freckles.
The purplish tone to them told me they were healing. At least they wouldn’t scar.
She was too pretty to scar.
Or at least from what I could see.
She needed to shower.
Blood still caked part of her face, and her hair was matted behind her head into a knotted ponytail that had seen better days. Nobody had been brave enough to ask her to wash herself.
The room stunk like death.
And at the same time, the sweet smell of roasted vanilla was finally starting to break through, the blood making my mouth water, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
It smelled like my dreams.
It felt like a nightmare.
“Bathe!” I barked in her general direction, stomping over to the adjoining bathroom and turning on the shower. I returned with a towel and chucked it on the bed then crossed my arms.
She stared at the towel and then at me. “Will you be in here the whole time?”
Her knees moved beneath the covers as she tucked them under her chin and wrapped her arms around her small body, exposing more bites. Bites that made my stomach sick.
What sort of vampire fed off its own kind?
What sort of female vampire didn’t sense danger and flee?
It was a mystery. One I had no business solving. “Look, female, the sooner you bathe, the sooner you feel better and heal, the sooner you can leave.”
She visibly swallowed before giving me a small nod. “Okay.”
I exhaled in relief as my muscles tensed and then relaxed only to repeat the process as she slowly stood to wobbly legs and then glared at me over her shoulder. “And my name isn’t female. It’s Serenity.”
“Of course it is… female.”
Hurt flashed across her face before she jerked her head back toward the bathroom and slowly made her way across the floor.
One foot slid. The other followed.
She paused. Took a breath.
Then winced in pain as she took another step forward and stumbled.
I caught her before her face hit the ground and righted her on her feet as her arms wrapped around my neck.
With a frown, I leaned forward of my own free will, ducking my nose near her neck as I inhaled my fill.
She let out a small gasp, jerking me out of my sudden mating dance.
The hell?
I would have dropped her, but she was leaning so heavily on me it would only injure her further, and as much as I wanted her gone, I wasn’t a complete monster.
Carefully, I pulled her into my arms and carried her into the bathroom. I set her on the closed toilet as I plugged the drain, changing the shower to a bath.
“You will not speak.” My voice sounded like nails; it was rusty, cold, angry. “You will not touch me.” I filled the tub. “You will stay as still as physically possible. I will help you bathe. You will return to your bed. You will sleep.”
“Please.” She piped up.
I snapped my head in her direction, tilting it left then right in a predatory way. “Please?”
“You forgot please.”
“I did not forget. I merely decided not to use it.”
“Well…” She licked her lips. “…now’s your chance, Wolf.”
I smirked at that. “Well-played, female. You will do all of the above… please.”
She nodded. Her smile returned.
I looked away. I had no room for her smiles in my life.
The tub was filled. Now the difficult part.
A naked vampire.
I pulled on every ounce of strength I had as I very slowly peeled the shirt from her body and then tugged the soft cotton leggings from her legs.
She had no other clothing.
She was bare to me.
And I was salivating as my fangs tried to press through my gums with such agonizing want that I had to bite down on my lip to keep from biting, to keep from sniffing — everywhere.
She covered her breasts.
It made me angry. I had no idea why.
I simply knew that the lust was replaced with anger at her shame, when the human body was meant to be worshipped by wolf — sniffed, licked, satisfied beyond all measure.
My thoughts jerked me back to my mate.
Guilt intensified, stabbing me in the heart, the muscle in my chest I rarely had use for anymore.
“Get in!” It came out as demand, a bark, as anger toward her, when it was more toward myself, my own lack of control. I gulped. “Please.”
Serenity stood on shaky legs, and I knew the process would repeat. She’d faceplant into the water, drown, and it would be on me.
With a calm I didn’t know I possessed, I plucked her off her feet and set her gently into the water, laying her on her back as I slowly dipped her head back and ran my rough hands through her matted hair.
She closed her eyes. Her lips trembled as I tugged the knots loose and massaged shampoo into her scalp. I held her head with one hand and washed with the other. When I finished, I could actually see the true color of her hair, not pitch-black, but an autumn-brown with pieces of gold highlights that fell only near her face and at the tips. I added some conditioner Alex used for his ridiculous hair and called it good. I grabbed some soap and handed it to her.
“Do you need me to wash your soiled body as well?” I asked in a gruff voice.
Serenity looked away as her skin turned an attractive pink color. “No, but I’ll need your help getting out.”
I nodded and stood. “I’ll stand outside the door. Just let me know when you finish.”
The water was murky covering her sex.
I shouldn’t have stared.
I shouldn’t have searched.
I was more animal than man. I blamed my wolf side — the need to mate, to make her mine, to lick her into submission and suck her dry.
It was my wolf. He was all predator.
And she… she was
prey.
It was only natural.
My thoughts must have betrayed my face. She blushed further and hurriedly started washing her body with the soap.
I quickly turned and marched out of the room and leaned my body against the closed door, finally able to breathe without tasting her scent in the air. Finally able to focus without wondering what it would be like to touch her lips, to bring her into the throes of ecstasy, to show her things only a man who contained a beast within could show her.
I gave my head a shake. Ridiculous lust-riddled thoughts driven forward by Cassius’ stupid rule that each of the immortal council members had to mate for strength.
Everyone but Timber, the crazed elf-demon, and myself remained.
It needed to stay that way.
I was strong enough on my own.
Women. Love. They did not create strength; they took it like thieves and left you weak.
And I swore I would never be weak again.
SERENITY
I could feel him behind the door. I measured his breathing, counted how many times he had to inhale and exhale to get his heart rate under control.
It was my gift.
It was a curse.
Knowing how much blood pumped through his veins, knowing the exact number of times his heart slammed against his chest, crying for freedom, singing the song of his creation with each beat.
Every immortal had a song. A cadence that told vampires who they were before they even opened their mouths.
The wolf’s screamed King. And yet he was in dirty flip-flops and jeans that were falling off his muscular body. His hair had a few beads in it, dirt, and I could have sworn I saw a leaf peeking through.
There was nothing about him that screamed King.
But I’d never been wrong about a song.
And his… his was different. His spoke of a legend, of love and loss. His spoke of agony that nobody should have to see in this world.
And my blood roared to life at the thought of helping heal what had been broken.
It confused me.
Wolves and vampires were not known to mate.
They weren’t even really known to be anything but partners in a lifelong war against evil.
I finished washing and waited, eyeing the door to see if he would barge right back in or wait for my invitation.
The hunger in his eyes was hard to miss, just like the song of his blood. And the more time I spent with him, the more the scent of his skin — the smell of earth and life — drove me insane with need.
I cleared my throat and said only loud enough for an immortal to hear. “I’m finished.”
The door cracked open.
The wolf poked his head through and sniffed.
I wondered if he realized how often he did that, sniffed the air before speaking, testing the atmosphere, analyzing.
My stomach growled.
His eyes darted to my chest and lowered. “You are hungry.”
Everything he said was like a statement, as if he’d been born centuries ago and still hadn’t really understood social expectations and communication. His bark, I imagined, was just about as bad as his bite — worse, since he was a healer.
I nodded my head as he took a cautious step forward and then grabbed one of the white towels and laid it on the counter. Two more steps and his warmth was pulsing all around me as he lifted me to my feet then very carefully wrapped a towel around my body. So tight, in fact, I wondered if he was worried about it dropping to the ground.
He surveyed his work as droplets of water ran down his chest. Water that had once kissed my skin seemed to glisten off his tan muscles. He gave his head a little shake as water slid to the ground near his bare feet and flip-flops.
I hid a smile by tilting my head down. I didn’t want him to think I was making fun of him — but he’d just shaken his body as if he had fur, as if he was a dog in need of getting dry.
It was endearing.
Sexy.
He cleared his throat. “You need meat.”
I almost choked. “Excuse me?”
“Meat. It has blood. If you eat it, you get blood. Do vampires know nothing?”
I stared up at him. “But I don’t like meat.”
You’d think I’d just announced that I was going to gnaw on his right arm then feed on his heart for good measure. He stumbled backward, confusion marring his face. “But… why?”
I laughed a little. “It’s too gristly.”
His dark, almost pitch-black, eyes widened. “Then you are eating it wrong!”
I wasn’t sure why he was so offended. I tried a different tactic, sensing his anger from a mile away. His hair began to stand on end, his breathing erratic.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “You’re probably right.”
“Probably?”
Wow, the man is impossible to get along with, isn’t he? “You are right.”
He exhaled, his body less rigid then before.
“I’m eating it wrong.”
“You are.” He apparently felt the need to comment again, and then he put his hands on his hips and let out a gruff sigh. “I’ll prepare you food, and you will dress.” He stopped, “Do you need help dressing?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe if I sit on the bed I can manage.”
He scooped me up without permission and stomped back into the room then dumped me onto the mattress.
I bounced a bit then cringed as my bruised body screamed in protest.
“Shit.” It was the first time I’d heard him swear. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly — thinking.”
Did he ever think beyond his wolf manners?
“It’s fine,” I said through pain-clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay.”
“No.” He scratched behind his head and swore again. “I’ll just…”
He hovered over me and then got up on the bed. He straddled my body with his. I tried not to cower in fear, but he was massive, dangerous, lethal.
He lowered his head to my neck and began to lick. And I forgot of all the reasons I was pushing him away instead of pulling him close.
I ran my hands down his bulky shoulders as the flick of his tongue moved between the bruises on my sternum; with each swipe, it felt easier and easier to breathe again, and then his tongue swirled my belly button, and my hips jerked in surprise.
He gripped them with both hands, his palms cradling them softly before digging his fingers into my thighs and moving his head between my legs.
This… this was not normal.
I wasn’t injured in those places.
I hadn’t been raped.
I was ready to fight him, ready to bite him if necessary and run away screaming, when his soft licks centered around each inside part of my thigh where I’d been cut years ago, where scars had marred my legs like tangled spiderwebs.
He licked harder.
And then he lifted his head just enough to look at my eyes. “Do you want the scars gone?”
What an odd question.
I frowned and then very slowly nodded my head.
“Do not bite me.”
“I wasn’t going to bite you,” I whispered.
“You were,” he snapped, and then his lips twitched into what I could only assume was his version of a smile. “It’s best not to poke the bear, or in this case, bite the wolf.”
“I already told you I don’t like meat.”
“I’m only halfway offended by that statement.” He grumbled before dropping his head once again and pressing his tongue against my core.
I gripped the sheets with my hands. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Healing…” He spoke between licks. “…your…” Another swipe of his tongue. “…scars.”
One last lick had me seeing an explosion of stars before he moved his head down my left leg as if he hadn’t just basically given me an orgasm with his tongue.
Healing my scars, my ass.
He was taking advantage of me, using me! Using the fact that I w
as weak and injured to get off with his own sick wolf—
“Your anger doesn’t help the healing,” he whispered once he finished with the last wound on my leg. His eyes had changed from a deep dark black to a crystal blue.
I sucked in a breath. “Your eyes.”
He shrugged. “What about them?”
I leaned up on my elbows, the healing all but forgotten. “They’re like ice.”
He jerked away so fast that I almost fell off the bed.
The door slammed behind him.
Leaving me confused, angry, and feeling used.
That was until I looked down and noticed the scars hadn’t just faded; they were completely gone.
MASON
I slammed my hands against the railing to the stairway. It splintered in two then fell crumpled to the ground in a heap of dust.
A slurping noise sounded behind me. With a growl, I turned. Alex sipped on his hot drink, shirtless, black leather pants tied low on his hips, barefoot, and his crazy yellow-orange hair fell past his shoulders in a heap of sunlight.
“What?” I said it slowly, purposefully showing my fangs.
He slurped more of whatever the hell was in the purple I Heart Unicorns mug and shrugged. “Just watching.”
“Don’t you have a woman to please?”
He laughed at that, “Don’t want to kill her with all the pleasure, wolf. She’s sleeping.”
“Then go be anywhere else.”
“Ethan’s gonna be pissed about his stairway, all that wood.” He licked his lips. “Wood, wood, wood—”
“If you won’t leave, I will.” I turned on my heel and stomped through the dust all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Damn it, I’d promised I’d make her something to eat.
My eyes darted to the freezer as indecision washed over me. My mouth pooled with saliva.
All that meat.
All that blood.
I shook my head.
Just cook the meat, Mason. Don’t eat it raw. That’s not normal. None of that is normal for a wolf.
The kitchen was blessedly silent except for the sound of pots and pans hitting the stove as I rummaged through trying to find a cast iron skillet that would sear the filet mignon I’d spied earlier when I was playing mind games with myself and chomping down on the dry pinecone I still tasted on my tongue.